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252 pages, Hardcover
First published May 12, 2020
They were always generous with one another, their contribitions rewarded in honorifics from the nonexistent institution, until everyone of them was pronounced, at the very least, an upright member in good standing.
Never mind all the stuff that isn't here, the things never made or never replaced for lack of resources, the things used and reused and repaired and repurposed and chipped and cracked and tattered and frayed and splintered and bruised and torn and scuffed and scrubbed and shattered and worn until gone. There are just the things we have that weren't consumed or obliterated, a subset of the things we could possibly have, a subset of the things there were.
...if your timing was right and you lived a long time, the math also allows that you might have seen all of it, rise to fall, a whole era encapsulated within the borders of your own long life. But generally, most people who experienced the Herring Era knew it as a diptych, a before and an after. It was only a question of ordering the feast and the famine.
[because they just plain couldn't grow enough grain to make bread,] the pope himself made dispensation that icelanders might make the body of christ from dried fish.
the danish authorities had, and not without reason, come to the conclusion that iceland was uninhabitable.
so radical was the change that some people sometimes poured a little water into their rubber boots, an intervention to make them feel right again. from the norsemen to the second world war, iceland lived in the middle ages. that’s how the icelanders say it.